


We Loved in Shades of Wrong

by RobinsonsWereHere



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Christianity, F/M, Infidelity, Mutual Pining, Postpartum Depression, Pregnancy, Stillbirth, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, lots and lots of angst, that's all it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: Alternate Universe. When Newcastle never comes up, there's no big issue to put a stop to Tom and Trixie's engagement. Perhaps the smaller red flags are there, but our stubborn couple ignores them. And things don't go well from there.Tom and Trixie were never meant to be, but it takes them a lot of anger, grief, and heartbreak to realize that.
Relationships: Barbara Gilbert/Tom Hereward, Christopher Dockerill/Trixie Franklin, Trixie Franklin & Barbara Gilbert, Trixie Franklin & Patsy Mount, Trixie Franklin/Tom Hereward, background Patsy/Delia
Comments: 64
Kudos: 34





	1. I Never Saw You Coming (I'll Never Be The Same)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for reading this mammoth of a fic. I've been working on it for weeks, and it's grown in ways I never imagined. The whole story is finished, which is good, because it went somewhere entirely different than what I expected. New chapters will be posted every Tuesday! Happy reading!

Trixie is pretty sure ‘numb’ is not the correct emotion to feel while showing off one’s shiny new engagement ring to one’s friends. Still, even as Barbara and Patsy ooh and aah over the diamond ring, she can’t bring herself to appreciate it as anything more than a nice piece of jewelery.

“I’m going to marry Tom,” she says aloud, trying to force the knowledge to sink in, to conjure up warm, fluttery giddiness in her chest. Hell, at the moment she’d settle for even generally positive anticipation.

“Well, yes, that’s generally what happens after a marriage proposal,” Patsy says drily. Trixie rolls her eyes at her friend.

“What a beautiful ring,” says Barbara, taking Trixie’s hand and turning it so the diamond catches the light. “You two will make a lovely couple.”

Smiling, Trixie nods slightly, accepting the compliment. She and Tom _will_ look good together. He’s kind, and charming, even if he’s a bit nervous at times. She could do much worse. She probably couldn’t do much better. She loves Tom, she tells herself. She does.

It seems as though her friends are unconvinced. “You look a bit off, Trixie,” Patsy says, sounding genuinely concerned. “Are you doing alright?”

Now Barbara, too, is studying Trixie. “I suppose it must be a lot to take in.”

“It is,” Trixie responds quietly, seizing the excuse. “It certainly is.”

\---

Shopping for a wedding dress is fun.

Shopping for a wedding dress is fun, and this relieves Trixie, because any little thing she can enjoy about getting married is a point she can cling to when her doubts come around.

(She clings to a few different bottles, too.)

Wearing a pure white dress with more layers of fabric than she’s really ever seen, Trixie walks slowly out of the dressing room. Barbara, Patsy, and Delia are waiting, and when she’s fully in front of them, they all begin to gape.

“Well,” Barbara says, “that dress is… certainly something.”

Trixie almost laughs at the polite offering. Her friend’s jaw is almost on the floor, and she looks rather horrified.

“It’s a lot,” Delia adds helplessly.

“Definitely a lot. Some might even say too much.” Patsy folds her arms, giving the huge skirt a disapproving look. “Maybe try another one?”

“Yes, I think so,” Trixie sighs, though she doesn’t mind in the slightest. “It’s a bit too… flamboyant, even for me.”

The next dress has sleeves just past her elbows. The skirt brushes the floor and has a short train, but the skirts fall straight, and there are far fewer layers than its predecessor. The first layer is lace, over the skirt and all the way up the bodice. The sleeves are entirely made of lace.

It feels significant, making her straighten her posture and stride out of the dressing room as if she’s walking down the aisle. Her friends are nodding and grinning before she’s even all the way out.

“Excellent,” Patsy declares. Trixie beams at her.

She’s fairly certain that she’s not supposed to be more excited about the dress than the man she’s marrying. But she loves Tom. She does. So that, she tells herself, is a worry for another time.

\---

Tom stares into the mirror, straightening his tie without really thinking. Actually, he’d straightened it five minutes ago. By now he’s probably making it more crooked.

The week before, Trixie had suggested postponing the ceremony, after Nurse Busby’s accident. They hadn’t, but he almost wishes they had. Maybe that says something about him. No, it definitely does. Tom swallows hard, feeling the urge to loosen the knot in his tie.

“About time to get out there, mate,” Fred says, coming up behind him. “Not sure Nurse Franklin will be too happy if she beats you to the ends of the aisle.” he gets a thoughtful look on his face. “Damn, I guess she’ll be Nurse Hereward soon. A bit mental, that.”

Tom nods. That about sums up how he’s feeling. Right now he thinks he might be just a bit mad, to go stand out there and wait for Trixie to walk down the aisle toward him. He thinks he might be just a bit mad to be marrying her, to have proposed in the first place, to have taken her out at all.

He feels endlessly lucky whenever he looks at her. He’s just not sure that’s supposed to be the primary emotion.

“I think your tie is straight, Reverend,” Fred continues, oblivious to Tom’s internal worries. “Ready to tie the knot with the love of your life?”

Tom doesn’t feel ready at all. He shoves aside the thought that it’s the woman he feels unprepared for, more so than the wedding. Forcing himself to turn away from the mirror, he gives Fred a weak smile.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

\---

Trixie lies awake, listening to Tom’s gentle snores from beside her.

Patsy had never snored; nor had Cynthia. Neither of them had ever shared a bed with her, either. The feeling of a warm body pressed against her feels foreign; almost more so than their earlier consummation of the marriage.

Trixie catches herself wishing they had pushed the date back after Delia’s accident. It’s a horrible thing to wish, for so many reasons. And yet, mere days ago, sitting in her room and watching Patsy try not to fall apart, she hadn’t hesitated to offer.

_I know you and Delia are close,_ she’d said. _Maid of honor is a lot to do when you’re grieving. We can wait._

She hadn’t even asked Tom until later, phrasing the suggestion in such a way that it sounded like she hadn’t yet mentioned it to Patsy. But in the end none of it had mattered, because Patsy was just too bloody stubborn. The wedding had gone on, leaving Trixie to scold herself for how quickly she’d offered to push it back.

She’s still worrying now. Pre-wedding jitters she’s heard of, but post-wedding ones? Surely this isn’t a good thing. She clenches her hands into fists. Her nails bite into her palms, and on her left hand, her rings pinch the skin of her fingers. Marriage is supposed to be a natural thing, a formalization of love between a man and woman, but this doesn’t feel natural at all.

Trixie rolls over, plants her face in her pillow, and tells herself she just has to get used to it. After all, she loves Tom.

She does…


	2. Falling in Love in the Cruelest Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara Gilbert is trying very hard not to have feelings for her best friend's husband. To her chagrin, it doesn't seem to be working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this fic so much and I'm glad to see a few readers are loving it as well! Don't know if I've mentioned, but it's all finished already, and the '?' in the chapter counter is only because I haven't finished dividing the final product into chapters yet. Thanks for bearing with me!

Barbara is curled into the corner of the couch, laughing at Trixie’s story of a meeting between several pastors of Poplar-adjacent parishes. In the month or so since her wedding, Trixie has still been over at Nonnatus house often, dragging Tom along for weekly dinners and staying long after the plates are cleared. Barbara certainly doesn’t mind; she misses her friend during the week, when she sees her only briefly between patient visits.

Tom hanging around more isn’t bad either. Really, he’s been such a fixture ever since the engagement that his presence hadn’t been unusual, even in the early weeks. Barbara has come to appreciate his input into dinner discussions. His quiet humor makes her laugh.

All of this is fine and good. It’s quite reasonable to become friendly with the husband of one’s best friend. The problem isn’t that Barbara is uncomfortable with Tom’s presence, it’s that she’s _too_ comfortable with it. She catches herself staring at him, and blushing when he turns her way. There are times when just his green eyes staring into hers make her feel all… fluttery. Fluttery, Barbara knows, is bad.

She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do about it. She’d dated a boy or two back in her teen years, but the last romance she’d been in was during her training as a midwife. It’s complicated enough, trying to figure out feelings when they could turn into a relationship. But these feelings, she isn’t even supposed to have.

When the phone rings, Barbara unfolds herself and stretches as she rises from the couch. “I’ve got the night shift tonight,” she sighs. Really, she’s glad for the interruption. A laboring mother will take hours; Tom and Trixie will be gone by the time she gets back. That leaves her all night to get herself together again. It’s not an issue; it can’t be. Trixie is her best friend, and Barbara is happy for her successful marriage.

That’s all there is to it.

Nothing more.

\---

Tom groans as he rattles the knob on the rectory door. It’s sticking again, and he resorts to banging it open with his shoulder.

His wife is sitting at the table, wearing her uniform and sipping at something that he doesn’t really believe is water.

“Trixie,” he sighs, “I said you didn’t need to wait up.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replies, her tone biting like it always does when she’s had too much to drink. “I had a patient. I just got back.”

“You’ve been back for long enough to finish off the wine,” he mutters, noting the bottle in the sink. “Do I even want to know what you’re drinking now?”

Trixie scowls and knocks back the rest of her glass. “Relax, I’ve only had one.”

“One what? Bottle?” Tom isn’t one for picking fights, but tonight, he’s tired and frustrated. His heart feels bruised after a long few hours with a grieving family. All he wants right now is a little comfort, a gentle kiss and a pair of arms around him. He should coax Trixie away from the bottle and get them both to bed, but he doesn’t. Maybe if he were a better man, he would tell himself they both need time to adjust to married life. He’s not feeling very patient tonight.

“That’s not exactly your business,” Trixie hisses, her words sharp with displeasure. “I’m perfectly sober, thank you.”

“Perfectly sober,” Tom repeats, following it with a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m sure. Sweetheart, you’re my wife. I know you well enough to know when you’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’ll have as much as I bloody please!” Trixie folds her arms and stands, and she’s tall enough to look him straight in the eye. “I’m a grown woman, Tom. I can handle myself.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. The gel has long since lost its hold, and a curl falls into his face. “Come on, Beatrix. We’ve both had a long day. Let’s just get to bed. You can sleep it off.”

“I’m not _drunk,”_ she insists, “and I find it rather ridiculous that you call me Beatrix. Most husbands create new nicknames, you know, not the other way around.”

Tom hasn’t seen her like this before. Yes, sometimes she gets snippy when she’s been drinking for too long, but tonight it seems as though nothing he says can appease her. “I’m sorry, Trixie,” he mumbles, not quite sure what he’s apologizing for. “I…” he takes a deep breath. “It’s been a long night. I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

She casts a lingering glance at the liquor bottle, then heaves a sigh of her own. “I suppose.”

They leave the kitchen together, Trixie stripping off her uniform once she enters the bedroom and Tom continuing into the small bathroom to brush his teeth. The domesticity is comforting, at least, even if the mood of the night is heavy.

Once they’re both undressed, Trixie in her nightdress and Tom in pajamas, he turns off the light. After a minute of blankets rustling as they toss and turn, the room is silent.

“I love you,” Tom whispers, speaking to Trixie’s turned back. She hasn’t turned out to be a cuddler.

“I love you, too,” she replies, after a pause.

Not for the first time, Tom gets the feeling that they’re using the words the wrong way.

\---

The first few months of the year in Poplar are always... delightful. If they’re lucky, the snow stops by March, but really, ‘lucky’ isn’t the right term, because it’s replaced by unceasing rain. Tom has an umbrella and he’s utterly drenched. He pities the poor soul out without any protection from the rain.

Even as the thought crosses his mind, he turns the corner to find a familiar face. Nurse Gilbert is walking her bicycle along the side of the road, which has turned into a small creek, with all the water running down it.

“Barbara,” Tom calls out, hardly thinking, “need a hand?”

He sees her startle when he calls her name, but she gives him a halfhearted wave in greeting. “What I _need_ is a new tire,” she says, when he gets closer. “I must’ve hit something sharp in an alley. Wonderful day for it.”

Tom can’t help but laugh. “Luck is truly on your side.” He keeps pace with her, holding out his umbrella to shelter both of them, as best it can. Barbara is soaked, her cloak hanging heavily on her shoulders and her hair plastered to her face. The chill has given her cheeks a rosy color and when Tom catches himself noticing the color of her eyes as well, he quickly looks away.

“Well, Fred will fix it when I get back to Nonnatus house,” she says, sounding hardly less chipper than usual. Tom is prepared to offer to walk her the whole way back-- it’s not _too_ far from where they are now-- but in the next moment, Barbara must trip over something hidden in the dirty puddles, because she gives a little cry and the bike falls from her grasp and Tom moves without thinking, catching her before she hits the ground.

They end up both standing in the flowing water, Tom holding Barbara in a way that’s quite improper for a married man to hold anyone but his wife. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to let go.

“Thank you,” Barbara breathes, her breath warm over his rain-chilled skin. She gives half of a laugh and pulls away slightly. “Perhaps I should’ve said _if_ I get back to Nonnatus house.”

Tom forces himself to drop his arms from her waist, trying to laugh at her weak joke. “Well, I suppose I could walk you back. Just in case of any further missteps.”

Barbara turns and picks up her bike from the ground. She’s silent for long enough that he thinks she’ll refuse, but once she’s holding her bike steady once more, she glances over her shoulder at him. “If it’s not too much trouble for you,” she responds with a blush.

_Don’t blush,_ he thinks, even as they begin to walk once more. _Don’t blush like this means something it doesn’t. Don’t blush like we’re doing something we aren’t. Don’t blush, because the only way I can possibly ignore how you make me feel is if I’m sure you don’t feel the same._

He shouldn’t feel anything at all for Barbara.

He hardly feels anything at all for Trixie.

Oh, how had they gotten into this mess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why wait to start the drama? I'm not one for slow developments ;)


	3. Death by a Thousand Cuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes wrong at once, more or less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back on my semi-broken laptop bc I want tumblr and sims okay!?

Trixie reclines lazily on the bed that had once been hers, sipping a glass that she’ll admit to not fully knowing the contents of. She’d mixed it earlier, but she’s had a few since then, so her mind feels pleasantly fuzzy.

Technically, this bed now belongs to Delia. Tonight, however, Delia is kneeling on Patsy’s bed, putting detailed braids into her friend’s red hair. They each have a glass of their own, though Trixie has probably had as much to drink as the two of them combined. Only Barbara is completely sober, sitting next to Trixie with a magazine that she doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to.

“Trixie,” Patsy says, “I’m not sure you’ll be able to bike home tonight if you keep drinking like that.”

She has a point. Trixie decides she’ll set down the glass once she finishes this one off. “Well, I’ll just stay here, then.”

“As fun as that would be,” Patsy responds drily, “I think Tom would miss you.”

Trixie snorts. “I’m not so sure.”

Yes, she really should put down her glass.

Delia laughs, twisting more strands of Patsy’s hair together. “Why so cynical already? I thought the two of you would still be in the newlywed phase.”

Rolling her eyes, Trixie fills her glass again in spite of herself. “Must be a myth.” She takes a large sip of her drink. “Enough about my love life. Surely, between the three of you, there must be some romantic developments.”

The answering silence is one in which you could hear a pin drop.

Delia coughs slightly.

“Ah,” Patsy says, sounding vaguely uncomfortable, “Barbara, didn’t I hear you mention something about a fellow catching your eye?”

Barbara makes a noise which, if she has been drinking, Trixie would’ve assumed was her choking on her drink. “Um, well, no?” She’s approximately the color of a tomato. “Well, I, I mean, I’m very busy, and I, um, I haven’t got time for all that.”

Trixie has never seen a clearer indication of hidden feelings. “Oh, come on, tell us,” she wheedles. “Clearly you’re thinking of _someone._ Who is it?”

“I-- I--” Barbara doesn’t seem to be breathing. “No, I don’t-- there’s noone, really. I mean, the only men I see on a regular basis are Tom-- Tom and Fred!”

Patsy is staring at Barbara with a hawk-like gaze. Delia is still looking at the carpet. Trixie groans and sets down her glass, sinking back into the pillows. The discomfort in the atmosphere means she’s no longer having any fun with this line of questioning. “Well, we should all go dancing sometime soon, then,” she sighs. “You girls need to meet some men.”

\---

Barbara is next on call, seeing as Trixie has just left. She runs up to her room for a novel-- sitting by the phone has a tendency to get boring-- and when she comes down, she finds Tom waiting, to her surprise.

“Tom,” she says, halting abruptly at the foot of the stairs. “Ah, Trixie’s just gone out. Mrs. Westing is a first-time mother, so she probably won’t be back for a while.”

She wishes she weren’t blushing, but that seems to be all she’s capable of whenever she’s in Tom’s general vicinity. She must be going mad; there’s no other suitable explanation.

“I know,” he says softly, his eyes meeting hers. “I just thought… well, it’ll be less boring to wait up here than at home.” He smiles. “Better company.”

Barbara’s blush deepens, and she chews her lip. “Well, I’ll certainly be up for a while.” She gestures to the telephone. “I’m on call.”

“Ah, yes, you’re tied to the phone,” Tom laughs. “I suppose I could make us some tea, then?”

Anything to get him out of the room, if only for a minute. Anything for a moment alone to get her head on straight. “That would be nice,” she manages.

When he leaves she almost collapses into the chair by the phone, hating the feelings swirling inside her. She can’t believe herself. In the past couple of months, she’s only developed more of a crush, for lack of a better word, on Tom. Honestly, at this point, Barbara feels like she should just avoid him altogether. She has no right to feel like this, not when he’s married, and _especially_ not when he’s married to one of her best friends.

Tom returns within the next few minutes, carrying two cups of tea. He joins her by the telephone, and they strike up an easy conversation, hushed on account of the late hour. The near-whispered words give the night an air of intimacy.

It feels so wrong, Barbara thinks.

It feels so right.

Who knew a quiet night with Tom, talking about essentially nothing at all, would be her best dream and worst nightmare, all at once?

“You are fascinating, Barbara,” he murmurs, sounding almost reverent. 

“Fascinating?” She’s never been able to raise only one of her eyebrows, so both go up.

“I just… I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” Tom shakes his head. “There’s something about you… forgive me, but I’m afraid I’m finding myself quite enchanted.”

_No. No, no, no, no, no._ Barbara’s fingers tighten around her near-empty cup of tea. “Tom,” she manages, the words forcing themselves out of her throat, “what are you saying?”

He’s staring at her now, a look in his eyes that makes the hair on her arms rise. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.”

This is wrong, so utterly wrong. But Barbara has spent weeks, months, grappling with her feelings for Tom. Finding out that he feels the same undoes every bit of effort she’s taken to think of him as nothing more than a friend.

She wishes her chair were further behind the table, instead of just at the corner. With Tom sitting right there, it’s all too easy to lean forward…

His hand cups her cheek. His breath blows over her lips. Barbara wants so desperately to close the distance, to finally taste his kiss.

“No,” she finally manages. “Tom, I won’t let you do this to Trixie. _I_ won’t do this to Trixie.”

He shakes his head, his hand curling into her hair like he wants to hold her close. “I don’t… we don’t… Trixie doesn’t love me.”

“Well, I love Trixie,” Barbara says, trying to sound firm. It’s a struggle, while they’re still so close, and she wants to pull away but she’s afraid of what might happen if she lets herself touch even his shoulders.

Thankfully, Tom releases her, shame shining in his eyes and turning his cheeks as red as hers feel. “If-- if Trixie and I weren’t… would you? Or have I got it all wrong?”

Barbara’s hands are shaking, and her heart is pounding in her chest. She feels like she can’t breathe.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she says hoarsely. “You’re married, and you’re married to my best friend. That has to be the only thing that matters now.”

“That’s not a no,” Tom says quietly.

The only answer she’s able to give is a short nod. 

Because he’s right.

It’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's gonna happen next, do you think? >:)


	4. Love Made Me Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie learns something from Barbara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all enjoy this chapter... plenty of drama!

Trixie grabs her delivery bag off of her bicycle, starting cheerfully up the stairs to Nonnatus House. It’s well into the night, beyond any time that could be called only ‘late’, but the delivery had gone well, so she’s happy. All she has to do now is leave her report by Phyllis’ rolodex and check on the roster, to see how the night shift is going, and then she’s free to go home.

“Hello, Barbara,” she greets quietly, finding her friend sitting by the telephone with a book. The brunette makes a squeaking noise. Trixie idly notes that there are two cups of tea near her, both of which look cold.

She’s too tired to think much of it, though, and continues into the equipment room to unpack her bag. A minute later, Barbara joins her, to her surprise.

“I didn’t hear the phone,” she says casually, watching Barbara out of the corner of her eye. She looks almost shaky, solemn and a little pale.

“It didn’t ring,” Barbara answers. “Trixie, I need to talk to you.”

“What’s the matter?” Trixie continues sorting her materials, dropping her used tools into the autoclave.

“Tom tried to kiss me,” Barbara blurts.

The cleanly wrapped packet of sterile tools Trixie had been about to drop into her bag clatters to the floor. Both nurses jump at the noise.

_”What?”_ Trixie asks, well aware of how shrill her voice has gone.

“Well, I think he did--”

“You _think?”_

“It certainly seemed like that’s what was happening, but I didn’t-- I didn’t let him-- of course I couldn’t, I would never.” Barbara won’t look Trixie in the eye, but her chest is rising and falling rapidly and the words spill messily from her lips. “Trixie, I am so sorry.”

Trixie takes a deep breath. She feels strangely cold. “Oh, Barbara you’ve _nothing_ to apologize for,” she says, her volume more under control now. She looks down at her hand, scowling at her rings. _Four and a half months, that was all it took… bloody hell._

“No, Trixie, I…” it seems Barbara isn’t quite done. “You don’t understand. I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t,” Trixie says softly.

“Of course not. You’re my best friend. I couldn’t do that to you.” Barbara swallows hard; she looks as though she might cry.

“And that makes you better than him,” Trixie insists. There’s a newly forming knot in her chest, but she smiles despite it, determined to assuage Barbara’s fears. She reaches out and squeezes her friend’s hand comfortingly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” Barbara repeats. She drops her head into her hands. “Lord, I’ve royally mucked things up, haven’t I?”

“No, you haven’t,” Trixie says firmly. She paces around the table until she’s right in front of Barbara, then reaches out and lays her hands on her shoulders. “Here’s what’s going to happen: You and I are going to have a nice cup of tea, and then, when you’re feeling better, I am going to go home. And if Tom is not asleep by then, he will bloody well get what’s coming to him. Sound alright?”

Barbara swallows and nods, giving Trixie a weak smile. “I suppose it does.”

\---

It’s only once she’s walking home that Trixie has any time alone with her thoughts. The first thing that registers is how much this _hurts._ Yes, she knows she and Tom don’t have the perfect relationship, but never in a hundred years would she have expected him to cheat, or even try to. _How far would he have gone, if Barbara had let him?_

She can’t believe any of this, but at the same time, she can’t believe she didn’t see it coming. Tom hanging around Nonnatus, telling her he was waiting for her to get back. As if he didn’t have more important things to be doing. And Barbara, the night they were all up in Patsy’s bedroom, blushing and stammering and refusing to explain the details of her possible beau. Lord, all of the pieces had been right in front of her… how long had this been going on? How long had Tom been falling for someone else, right in front of Trixie’s face?

Only when she feels the tears on her cheeks does she realize she’s crying. _Stop that,_ she tells herself. _You will_ not cry over this. You will go home and get some sleep and tomorrow morning, when everyone is at their best, you will have a serious conversation with Tom.

Trixie takes a few deep breaths, wiping away her tears. In her mind, she mulls over what that conversation might sound like, how it might end. What does it say about their relationship, if they’re having this much trouble already? How are they supposed to salvage their marriage?

Should they even have gotten married at all?

When she reaches the door to the rectory, she practically body slams it, knowing the latch will stick. But of course, tonight has to be the night it doesn’t, and the door flies open with a bang, leaving Trixie to nearly fall flat on her face into the kitchen. “Oh, bloody hell!” She stumbles, catching herself on the kitchen table.

In the bedroom, a light flicks on. “Trixie?”

_So much for sleeping on the issue._

\---

Tom jolts awake to a crashing noise, already trying to identify an intruder. In the next moment, a familiar voice comes, cursing loudly despite the fact that it’s… just past three in the morning. Grumbling to himself, Tom, turns on the lamp on the nightstand. “Trixie?”

“Yes?”

He climbs out of bed, moving through the doorway just as Trixie turns on the kitchen light. For a moment, he stands in the hall, half bathed in shadow, and takes her in.

_Look at her… she’s been working all night, helping people, doing her job, and what have you been doing? Making a pass at her best friend? You worthless sod._

Trixie obviously can’t hear what’s going on in his head, and sighs loudly, pulling off her cloak. “It appears the latch has been fixed.”

“Fixed.” He steps forward, crossing the kitchen to examine it. “Or rather, snapped off completely.”

“Bloody hell,” Trixie repeats. “That’s _just_ what I need tonight.”

Tom frowns at her unusually short temper. “How come? Has it been a hard night, love?” He reaches out to lay a hand on her arm, but she turns just before they touch and gives him a saccharine smile.

“No, darling, it’s been a nice night; I delivered three healthy babies today,” she answers. “Why? Is there any reason you would _expect_ me to have a hard night?”

He takes a breath, guilt washing over him. He should tell her. He knows he should tell her. But it’s never going to happen again, and it’s not as though anything had _really_ happened…

Tom takes another, deeper breath.

(Looking back, he’ll recognize the rapid change from angry to cheerful as a warning sign. He should have realized she was laying a trap.)

“No, nothing,” he says weakly.

Trixie has her back to him as she removes her hat and hangs up her sweater, but he hears her harsh laugh. “Some priest you are.”

“What?”

She turns back to face him, her arms over her chest. “Thou shall not _lie,_ Tom. It’s part of the ten commandments.”

Tom gets the dawning feeling that she’s going somewhere with this. “I’m… aware?”

“What are the others?” Trixie has a faux-thoughtful look on her face. “Don’t steal, don’t kill, don’t covet what isn’t yours… oh, there’s one more, isn’t there?”

“Six more, actually, you’ve only listed four.”

“Oh, right!” Trixie gives him a too-sharp smile. “Thou shalt not _commit adultery.”_

_Oh._

This is what he gets, then. Because she’s right, of course. He shouldn’t have lied, shouldn’t have… tried to bridge the gap with Barbara in the first place.

“Barbara, Tom?” Trixie shakes her head. “Really? A bit close to home, don’t you think? Did you-- did you think she wouldn’t tell me?” She looks up at him, and his stomach twists when he sees unshed tears shining in her eyes. “What were you _thinking?”_

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Sorry doesn’t bloody well do much, does it?” Her anger is returning but now he knows it’s little more than a mask to keep the hurt from showing. “We’ve been married barely five months, Tom! Not even! Why-- why would you--” she breaks off, shaking her head. Her jaw tightens, and her fingers grip the back of the dining chair. She’s trying not to cry. He’s made her want to cry.

“Trixie, I am so sorry,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have. It was wildly inappropriate and immoral of me. It will _never_ happen again, I promise you that.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve been on the outside of this argument?” Trixie’s voice is breaking. “Do you know how many women I’ve treated for venereal disease who insist the diagnosis is wrong, because their husbands _promised,_ just like they did the last three times?”

Tom swallows hard, hot shame crawling over him. “I would never. You know that.”

“I thought I did!” Trixie’s hair had been pinned up at the back of her neck, but it’s falling out now, shaking loose with every sharp movement she makes. “I thought I knew the man I was marrying! When you proposed I said yes because you were a _good man,_ someone I trusted, someone I thought I could be happy with, for the rest of my life. We are not happy, Tom! This isn’t what ‘happy’ is supposed to look like!”

“What do you want, then?” Tom finds himself yelling, too, although he knows he’s mostly to blame here. “Are you telling me you want some sort of refund? You want to throw in the towel four months in?”

“You did!” Trixie folds her arms. “You’re already off trying to kiss Barbara, the poor girl, did you even think about the position you were putting her in? Did you even think at all?”

“I didn’t!” Tom tries and fails to take deep breaths. “I wasn’t thinking, Trixie. I just-- she was there, and if I were a better man, I could have ignored the feelings I shouldn’t have had. I didn’t know what I was doing, Trixie, and I made a mistake. Is that really enough to break us? Do you really want this to be over so soon?”

“I don’t know what I want,” she says hoarsely. “I don’t know how I feel, especially concerning you. Tom, I just want to go to bed.”

He nods. “Alright, then.”

She moves past him, and after a moment he follows, but she stops in the doorway to their bedroom. “Alone.”

Well, he does deserve it.

“I have an armchair in my office.”

It’s not until he’s lying alone in the cold dark night that he realizes it’s the first night they’ve gone to sleep without any sort of ‘I love you’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you think is coming next? Will things get better for Tom and Trixie? Worse? Leave a comment!


	5. Things Will Never Be The Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as things begin to calm down in Poplar, there's another bump in the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am Very Sorry I forgot what day it was so that's why this is late

Over the next few weeks, Spring fully arrives in Poplar, bringing with it new beginnings of all sorts. Trixie has a week where she delivers three babies a day. Tom performs a wedding almost every weekend. The fresh start to the season is appealing to everyone, for many reasons. By Easter Sunday, Trixie and Tom are more or less back to normal.

That doesn’t mean things have _settled down,_ of course; they will never be that lucky. In fact, Trixie has a feeling that there’s another storm on the horizon.

The church service is nice, and the egg hunt she and the nurses had set up is amusing to all ages. Trixie is wearing her rings after weeks of making excuses to take them off, and that seems to make Tom happy. She plays the good wife at church, and it’s less of a chore than it has been in a while. They’re still both in good moods for dinner at Nonnatus house.

It really is a feast, so it’s a shame that it seems to be turning Trixie’s stomach. She’s not entirely sure why, but… she turns down the offer of wine, just in case.

Near the end of the night, she habitually finds herself, Barbara, Patsy, and Delia migrating to Patsy and Delia’s room. Barbara puts on a record, and Patsy passes out cigarettes. Delia goes over to the armoir. “Drinks, anyone? We have a nice new sherry, and some of your old whiskey, Trix.”

“I’ll have a glass of sherry,” Patsy answers.

Trixie takes a drag on her cigarette. “I’d best not, thank you.”

“Trixie Franklin, turning down alcohol? The world must be ending,” Patsy says drily. 

Another long breath of smoke gives Trixie a moment to consider how best to respond to that. She’s not one for beating around the bush, so…

“I think I might be pregnant,” she says, taking measures to keep her voice normal, her tone casual, like this is no big deal.

“Well then I’ll take _this,”_ snaps Patsy, not missing a beat. She leans over and snatches the cigarette from between Trixie’s fingers, flinging it over her shoulder. “You know better.”

“Don’t set the drapes alight, Pats,” Delia reprimands, retrieving the burning cig and stubbing it out in an ashtray.

Trixie sighs, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how this happened…”

“You’ve been a midwife longer than I have, I certainly hope you know about the birds and the bees.”

“Full of wisecracks tonight, are we, Patsy?”

“Sorry.” The redhead looks sheepish, seeming to realize this isn’t the time.

“How far along do you think you are?” Barbara asks, her voice quiet and gentle. “Far enough to hear a heartbeat?”

Trixie frowns. “Perhaps… but I doubt it. I’ve missed… two periods? Honestly, it could just be a fluke.”

“But you don’t think it is,” Patsy asks, “do you?”

“No.” Trixie shakes her head, her voice suddenly quiet. “No, no I don’t.”

\---

When Tom wakes up one Tuesday morning, a week or so after Easter, he finds the bed next to him empty. It’s not _exactly_ uncommon, but more recently, Trixie has been sleeping later, seeming to be more at ease with sharing a bed with him once again. It’s nice to have some of her trust back; he’s been trying hard to earn it.

This morning, however, when he reaches out he realizes the bed is still warm. In that case, Trixie probably hasn’t left for work yet…

He finds her in the bathroom, half-slumped against the toilet, ashen and clammy. Even as he’s kneeling down, she groans and turns her face away from him. “Go back to bed, it’s early.”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Tom crouches next to her, reaching out to push her hair out of her face. The fact that it’s loose instead of pinned up in curlers is as much an indicator that something is wrong as the sweat shining on her brow.

“I’m fine,” she says, everything about her contradicting her statement. “Please leave me alone.”

“You’re not fine, darling, you’re sick.” He lifts a hand to her forehead. “Are you running a fever?”

“I’m not feverish and I’m not sick, Tom, I’m--” the rest of her protest is cut off as she turns vaguely green and turns back to vomit into the toilet. Tom sighs and holds back her hair.

“Trixie, you need to go to the doctor.”

She shakes her head as she stands, turning on the sink and rinsing her mouth out. “No, I don’t,” she says stubbornly. “I’m going to clinic this afternoon.”

Tom frowns as several things fall into place. “Clinic? Trixie…”

Now she’s looking in the mirror, her back to him, but their eyes meet. “I’m pregnant, Tom. I was going to wait to tell you until after clinic, after I knew.”

For a minute, Tom is still, frozen to the spot.

_She’s pregnant._

He’s going to be a father. He’s always wanted children, and in recent times, he’s even thought about having some in the near future, but...now? Is it really the right time?

In the next instant, Tom shakes himself out of it. _Your wife is pregnant. This is good news._ And it is, it is. He’s happy. To show Trixie this, he moves forward, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her shoulder. “This is wonderful, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Are you happy?”

Trixie sighs. “Right now I’m just sick.”

Still, Tom can feel her relax slightly in his arms. Hope glows faintly in her eyes. Right now, that’s enough for him.

\---

Trixie does go to clinic, like she’d promised Tom, but she stalls more than she should. It’s a good few hours into the afternoon when Patsy intercepts her on the way to see a patient and firmly directs her behind a curtain, where Barbara is waiting for her. “You need to take care of yourself, too, you know.”

“I know,” Trixie says with a sigh. She sits on the edge of the exam table, swinging her legs and making no effort to lie down. Barbara gives her the same look she gives every difficult patient.

“You can make yourself comfortable.”

She sighs and lies down.

“When was your last cycle?”

“Late January. Yes, I have had intercourse since then. My symptoms include fatigue, nausea, increased urination, and mood swings, or perhaps that’s just me.” Trixie scowls at the ceiling. It does make her feel slightly better, to blame her foul mood on hormones.

“Well, you clearly know the drill,” Barbara says, after a pause. “If you’ll lift your skirt, I’ll begin a physical examination.”

Barbara’s hands are cold, but everything goes well enough. Trixie meets her eyes as she’s having her stomach palpated. “Well, everything feels alright,” Barbara says. “I’d put you at thirteen or fourteen weeks along, so we should be able to find a heartbeat. Really, Trixie, you could’ve come in last week.”

“I could’ve,” Trixie agrees quietly.

“And we both know you’ve suspected this for a while.”

“I have.”

“So why put it off?”

This is far beyond the usual nurse-patient exchange, but Trixie knows Barbara isn’t asking as her nurse. “I’m not ready,” she sighs. “I love children, and I want them, but not… not so soon. Especially after everything…”

When she looks up at Barbara, she half expects to see remorse and apologies in her gaze once more, the same sort of wretched plea for forgiveness that had been there in the first weeks after Tom’s… slip-up. Today, that isn’t the case. Barbara is watching Trixie with something akin to yearning in her eyes, like she wishes they could switch places. For the briefest of moments, Trixie wishes so, too.

“I’m going to listen for a heartbeat now,” Barbara says abruptly. She turns away to find the fetal stethoscope. Trixie closes her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Maybe a healthy baby will make this all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who thinks things will go smoothly for Trixie?


	6. Torn Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument between Tom and Trixie gets a little out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any other CTM fans watching Feel Good just bc of Charlotte Ritchie? I found it on Netflix yesterday and it is the BEST

Thankfully, everything is perfectly fine with her pregnancy. Trixie decides to keep working, which everyone agrees is a perfectly reasonable course of action. So the weeks stretch on, and the days get longer, summer heat leaching into Poplar.

By June, Trixie is five months pregnant. She’s gotten more used to the idea, and by the time she can feel her baby kicking, she’s actually excited about motherhood. Tom, too, seems to have softened at the prospect of a child of their own.

At least, for a few weeks.

Sunday afternoon is their time together, when Trixie cleans the house and Tom gets things ready for dinner. Some days they have a rare few hours where neither is particularly busy, and they each take an armchair in the living room, reading books or Bibles or scribbling notes for the coming work week.

“Trixie,” Tom asks, “why aren’t you wearing your rings?”

She sighs. “I had clinic earlier this week. Can’t exactly be wearing much jewelery during a physical examination, can I?”

“Clinic was five days ago,” Tom says flatly.

Trixie shrugs. “I’ve had other patients since then.”

In truth, she doesn’t really like to wear her rings. They seem to be mocking her, an ever-present reminder that she’s trapped in a laughable farce of a marriage, a pale caricature of love. She tells herself she loves Tom, but she’s just not sure it’s true anymore.

Or was it ever?

“Are you upset with me?” he asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

Trixie doesn’t have the energy for this. “No, Tom, I’m not. I just don’t have my rings on right now.”

He nods slowly, seeming to think carefully about his next words. “Alright… that’s fine, of course, it’s up to you, but… it does send a message.”

She smiles too sweetly. “A message?”

“Well…” Tom looks down, fidgeting with the page of his worn Bible. “Everyone knows rings are the physical symbol of a marriage. When you take them off, it makes you seem unhappy… dissatisfied.”

Trixie almost laughs. _Dissatisfied. That’s one word for it._ “Tom, I… you don’t need to worry.”

He sighs. “Even if that were a real answer, you, ah…” he finally looks up at her. “You know as well as anyone that there’s a risk for misunderstanding if you don’t wear your rings at this point.” He gestures to her bump. “You look pregnant, Trixie.”

She huffs and rubs at her belly. He’s right, but it doesn’t mean he should say it. “Tom, everyone in Poplar knows you and I are married… and _most_ people know not to make remarks to a woman about her size.”

He winces at the dig. “You know what I meant. I think you look radiant. But sweetheart, you shouldn’t… I’m a curate. You’re a nurse. We both have reputations, and it sends a message--”

“Oh, yes, it sends a bloody message!” Trixie cuts him off angrily, sick of being talked in circles. She feels tiny limbs prodding at her organs, her baby getting worked up just like she is. “You know what else sends a message, Tom? Trying to kiss my best friend!”

“Trixie,” Tom sighs, sounding beleaguered. “Trixie, I-- I’ve apologized for that. It was ages ago. Are you still upset?”

It feels as though her blood is boiling in her veins. “Am I _still upset?”_ She stands from the couch, her hands on her hips. “No, of _course_ not, dear. You made a pass at Barbara four months into our marriage, gave half an apology, and then we didn’t discuss it further and now I’m pregnant, despite the fact that I don’t exactly have faith in our ability to raise a child together!”

Tom scoffs, setting his Bible aside. “Really? _Really?_ Trixie, I don’t even know where to begin. The reason I let the issue drop is because I was taking my cues from you, and you’ve been acting like it didn’t happen!”

“What am I supposed to do, Tom? How I am supposed to take it? Pushing this down is the best option I have!” She tries to take a breath but can’t seem to find the air. “Just because we don’t talk about it doesn’t mean I don’t think of it nearly every goddamned day. I can barely see you near Nonnatus without wondering what you’re doing there!”

“Well that’s hardly my fault, is it?” Tom’s voice is rising, frustration leaking into his words and threatening to turn to anger. “You know, perhaps you should try letting go. Trust that you can step away, and everyone will live their lives without you breathing down their necks. Could you do it, Trixie? Could you stand to give up control?”

Trixie is nearly vibrating now, rage blinding her. “Why, Tom Hereward, you have got a _lot_ of opinions for a man who lets everyone else walk all over him like a doormat!”

“I think _you’re_ the one walking all over me, Beatrix!” Tom is only as tall as Trixie, but he seems to tower over her now. “You do as you please, but you hate to see me do the same. And now you think I’ll be a horrible father?”

“That is _not_ what I said!”

“Well, I’m not the one who drinks half a bottle of gin every night!”

“You know I don’t do that anymore! You know I’ve stopped!” Trixie feels strangely detached, like she’s not the one screaming, like she doesn’t have any control over her actions. 

“Who’s to say you won’t start again?” Tom is glowering at her, angry in a way she’s never seen. Trixie can’t bring herself to care. “I’ll admit I don’t know much about being a father, but I _do_ know you can’t raise a child from the bottom of a bottle.”

And that’s what does it.

Trixie isn’t a violent woman. She knows better, knows how to use her words instead of getting physical. But Tom’s biting remark brings back memories of her mother shaking with tears and her father’s angry, fearful words slurring together. She has sworn for years that she will _not_ be a parent like her father was. And now she’s seeing red and the only thought in her mind is _how dare he_ and she grabs the closest thing, a decorative stone statue of some saint, and throws it in Tom’s general direction.

As it turns out, her aim is a little too good.

\---

“I’m sorry.”

With his uninjured arm, Tom rustles through the icebox. “If I hadn’t ducked, that would’ve hit my head.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Let me help.”

“I’ve got it.” He winces as he moves his right arm, pain sparking from his shoulder and radiating down the limb. Giving up on finding an alcohol cold pack, he grabs a handful of ice cubes and dumps them into a towel.

As he turns around, Trixie intercepts him, tugging at his shirt collar. “Tom, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine, Trixie.”

“Just let me clean it off, it doesn’t look like you need stitches. I don’t want you to get an infection.”

“Trixie,” Tom snaps, “I think you’ve done enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I'm a little nervous for the response to this chapter, I feel like Trixie may be a bit ooc... it all gets cleared up and ironed out next chapter, when we get everyone's reactions, so just trust me for now!


	7. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Trixie are reeling after their disastrous fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have 3 minutes until my online class so I'm hurrying to get this up!

Tom and Trixie sleep apart for the next few days.

Even mad, he’s not willing to make his pregnant wife sleep on the sagging loveseat. Unfortunately, it’s not exactly comfortable for Tom, either. By Wednesday, he’s exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes matching the deep purple bruise on his neck and shoulder. He’ll blame lack of sleep for the fact that he’s tired and clumsy in the morning, buttoning his shirt and fastening his collar unevenly.

It’s not as if he’s regularly looking in the mirror. He doesn’t realize just how much of his injury is visible. That afternoon, he finds himself at Nonnatus house, awaiting Sister Julienne’s return before a conference with her. Sister Monica Joan had made several exclamations about cake and tea, and then wandered off, leaving Tom alone in the kitchen with the slowly-heating kettle. Even as he stands there awkwardly, he hears the large door open, followed by the sound of footsteps on the wood.

More noises tell him the newcomer is in the clinic room, and then coming his way. Still, he’s surprised by her identity when she finally joins him in the kitchen.

“Tom,” says Barbara, her voice changing pitch multiple times in the single syllable. 

He gives a polite nod, Trixie’s bitter accusations ringing in his ears. “Afternoon, Barbara.”

She looks around the room, seeming to be searching for something to say. “You’re making tea?”

“Well, Sister Monica Joan was making tea, but she’s wandered off. So yes, I suppose I am.”

Barbara laughs quietly. “It’s a good thing you’re here. She did the same thing last week, and she would’ve set the place alight if Patsy hadn’t heard the kettle.”

As if summoned by the mention, the kettle on the stove begins to whistle. Tom goes to pick it up, reaching with his right arm out of habit. It’s full of water and far too heavy for his injured shoulder, and he drops it back onto the stove with a pained noise. Luckily, it doesn’t splash or spill.

“Are you alright?” Barbara turns off the stove and moves closer to Tom, peering at his shoulder. She reaches for the collar of his shirt but he sees the moment she realizes what she’s doing, when her hand stills in midair and her lips twist into a frown. “You have a bruise. And a cut?”

He quickly tugs up his collar. “It’s nothing.”

“You nearly dropped the kettle; it seems like you can hardly move your arm. ”

“I’m fine.” 

“I should take a look at that bruise…” Barbara looks fretful. “What happened?”

“It was an accident.” Tom looks down at the floor, at the steaming kettle on the stove, anywhere but Barbara’s eyes. There’s too much understanding in her gaze.

“You’ve got a bruise from your shoulder up your neck, what sort of accident--” Barbara stops suddenly, and Tom winces as he sees understanding dawn. “Tom, did Trixie--”

“No.” He turns away quickly, tugging at his collar again. “No. I’m just clumsy.” The lie is rather pathetic, and he knows she can see through him. “I-- I think I heard the door… I have a meeting with sister Julienne. I should go.”

He leaves the kitchen quickly, but Barbara’s shocked, stricken expression stays branded in his mind.

\---

By nine that night, Barbara has had a busy day, but not busy enough to wipe the incident with Tom from her mind. She sits on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, trying to picture his bruise and determine just how badly he was injured.

He hadn’t been able to lift the kettle, and he’d gripped his shoulder afterwards. But the visible part of the bruise-- and what might have been a cut-- had been on his neck, just above his collar. It had to be a large injury, then. However it had happened, she doubts it was a simple, walked-into-a-door-frame accident.

“Barbara?” Phyllis asks, interrupting her train of thought. “You’re looking pensive tonight, lass. Is something the matter?”

She sighs. “Phyllis, you give good advice.”

“Why, thank you.”

“So…” Barbara bites her lip, well aware that her situation is not one many would have advice for. “I ran into Tom today. And he… he had a fairly large bruise on his shoulder; he was clearly having trouble using that arm.” She swallows, realizing her mouth is dry. “It didn’t seem like it could’ve happened by accident.”

Phyllis gives her a knowing look. “You’re a talented nurse, Barbara. Trust your judgement.”

“I don’t!” Barbara takes a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness of her chest. “Trixie wouldn’t… would she?”

Before Phyllis can respond, the door swings open. Trixie herself strides in, a few bottles of nail polish in her grasp and Patsy and Delia trailing behind her. “I wouldn’t what?”

Not for the first time, Barbara spares a moment to wonder how she gets herself in these situations.

“Well,” she starts. “Trixie…”

Trixie sits next to her on the bed, lining the nail polish bottles up along the foot rail. “Yes?”

Barbara wrings her hands. “Is everything alright, with you and Tom?”

The blonde laughs. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. ‘Alright’ is incredibly relative.”

Squaring her shoulders, Barbara takes a deep breath. _If you want to say something, you have to actually say it._ “I… I noticed he was favoring his right arm earlier today, when he came to speak with Sister Julienne.” At this, Trixie turns suddenly to face her, her dark, guarded expression seeming to confirm Barbara’s fears. “It looked like he had a large bruise.”

Trixie opens her mouth, then closes it again. Her sharp scowl melts away, leaving her looking somber and hollow. She lays a hand on her belly and sighs heavily.

“We… we were arguing, Sunday afternoon. I’ll spare you the unpleasant details. I ended up chucking a paperweight or something at him… I never actually intended for it to hit him. I can’t believe it did.”

“Oh, Trixie,” Patsy murmurs. Noone else speaks; Delia has shrunk into Patsy’s side, while Barbara feels like she’s lost her voice.

“I feel horrible for it, lord, you know I do,” Trixie continues on, her words quiet and her gaze directed at the ground. “I can’t believe I hurt him. I should apologize, I’ve tried, but I just don’t know where to start. I… this isn’t me, Patsy.” She finally looks up, looking from Patsy, Delia, and a stony Phyllis back to Barbara, who currently feels small and cold. “It isn’t.”

Barbara manages to nod, still unable to find words. Patsy reaches out to take Trixie’s hand. “We know. It was just a mistake, Trix. You and Tom will right yourselves.”

Trixie shakes her head. “Will we?”

As the shock wears off, Barbara, too, moves to comfort her friend. “You will,” she promises. The lump in her throat moves down and lodges in her stomach.

“It will all work out eventually,” Delia adds, as she and Patsy join the group hug.

Phyllis is the last to wrap her arms over the entangled mass of nurses. “It’ll be alright, lass. You’ll see. Everything will be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Will everything be alright?


	8. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hereward family gets bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know a lot of you were super curious about how the gang would handle the events of the previous chapter(s) going forward, an if I weren't operating on a timeline, that would've been elaborated upon further. Unfortunately, as you may have guessed from the title & summary, we've got a new plot point now... sorry to disappoint, but enjoy this chapter.

Tom is fairly certain he should invest in a higher-quality couch.

The one they have now is more of a loveseat, faded and worn and sagging in the middle. It works perfectly well for relaxing with a book or cuddling with Trixie-- as if _that_ has happened at all in recent months-- but when it comes to sleeping, it leaves much to be desired. Tom had never expected to spend more than a night or two sleeping on it, even once he got married, but now that Trixie is in the home stretch of her pregnancy, she’s essentially taken the entire bed for her own.

When his wife appears in the living room late one night, he idly hopes that she might be coming to invite him back to bed. Standing in the dark hallway, Trixie looks almost ethereal, her pale features made even more so by the moonlight and her silky dressing gown shimmering as it drapes over her bump.

“Tom,” she says, “I’ve been thinking about baby names.”

So, no invitation of bed sharing, then.

“Trixie,” he sighs, “it’s nearly midnight.”

She settles onto the loveseat by his feet. “I can’t sleep. Your child is kicking me in the ribs.”

Some things, Tom decides, are worth giving up sleep for. He sits up, his quilt sliding onto the floor, and reaches out. “Can I feel?”

“Here.” Trixie smiles softly, guiding his hand to the top of her belly. Almost immediately, Tom feels several strong kicks against his hand.

“No wonder you can’t get to sleep,” he breathes.

Trixie smiles. “The novelty fades after the first half-hour or so.”

“So, you want to think about names?” 

“Seems like something we should discuss.” She looks down, cradling her bump. “This little one will be here sooner or later.”

There’s something different about Trixie in this moment, when she’s lost in the idea of impending motherhood. Her voice loses it’s sharp edge. There almost seems to be an air of tranquility surrounding her. Tom wishes he were as at peace with this idea as she seems to be.

“Well,” he asks, “do you think it’ll be a boy or girl?”

Trixie laughs. “Well, as a trained midwife, I’m supposed to say I don’t know, but I just have a feeling… this baby feels like a strong little girl.”

“A girl.” Tom thinks for a minute. “Perhaps we could name her after you…” he takes Trixie’s hand and brings it to his lips.

“Charmer,” she teases. “Maybe as a middle name.” She hums. “Should we name her after someone from Nonnatus?”

“Well, Patsy is short for Patience, and Phyllis seems like a name that should be reserved for the over-thirty crowd, so unless you fancy using one of the nun’s names, that leaves Barbara.”

Trixie snorts. “I think you know that’s never going to happen.”

Tom concedes the point with a nod; it’s time to let bygones be bygones. “Do you have any names you especially like? Want to name her after any relatives?”

After a silence that seems heavier than the previous ones, Trixie smiles too brightly. “You know what, maybe we should think about boys’ names first. We could end up with either.”

“I’ve always liked the name Michael,” he suggests, accepting the subject change.

“I like that one too, I suppose.” Trixie tilts her head, looking at him. “We’ll use Thomas as a middle name?”

“If you’d like.” Tom isn’t too fussed over whether the baby is named after him or not.

“Michael Thomas…” Trixie shakes her head. “I don’t think so. What about Colin?”

“Colin’s a nice name.” Truthfully, Tom doesn’t care if they pick a name now or wait until they meet their baby. What’s special about tonight is simply sitting here, comfortably close to Trixie, their legs entangled and their arms occasionally brushing. It’s a kind of gentle companionship he hasn’t felt since they’d gotten married, the sort of situation that reminds him why he’d proposed in the first place. And he could use a reminder of that.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

Trixie looks confused, but offers him a gentle smile. “I love you, too.”

\---

Her labor comes in the night.

It’s disorienting, waking up from a troubled sleep to a sensation of pure agony. Trixie’s heart is racing and her breaths are short by the time she realizes what’s going on. 

_Everything is alright,_ she tells herself. _You’re not that far off from when you thought this would happen. The dates are rarely spot-on._

For a moment, she wishes she hadn’t banished Tom to the couch the month before. Since she has, she has to actually get out of bed to wake him so he can call Nonnatus House. She manages to sit up with a groan, but another contraction grabs her, effectively preventing her from going anywhere for the next minute or so.

How much of this has she slept through, if the pains are already this close?

Soon enough she doesn make it to the sitting room, where she leans heavily on the couch, using her free arm to shake her husband awake. “Tom.”

He grumbles sleepily. “Huh?”

“Tom, the baby’s coming.” Trixie hisses in pain as the next contraction hits. “I need you to-- agh-- call Nonnatus House.”

“What?” She hears the blankets shift as he sits up. “Trixie-- what? Are you in labor?”

“Yes!” She barks out the syllable, words getting harder as the pain increases. She can’t help but groan as she leans on the couch even more.

“Bloody hell.” Tom scrambles off the loveseat, hurrying around to help her. “How can I help? What do you need?”

“I need you,” she pants, “to call Nonnatus House. As I’ve said. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

“Right, right.” Tom runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, looking more than a little fried. “Phone. Yes. I’ll make the call.”

Trixie sighs and returns to bed.

\---

Barbara is on call again, half-asleep by the phone with her tea going cold and her book slipping from her fingers. The ringing phone makes her jolt awake and drop her novel completely.

“Nonnatus House, midwife speaking.” The words fall from her lips before she realizes she’s picked up the phone. She could probably do this in her sleep, which might be a good thing tonight.

_”Barbara.”_ It’s Tom’s voice on the other end. He says her name, and nothing else, and Barbara is suddenly far more awake.

“Tom?” She frowns, though he can’t see her. “Is something wrong?”

_”Ah… perhaps… I’m still half-asleep, to be honest, I forget why I picked up the phone.”_

She raises her eyebrows. “Is everything alright with Trixie?”

_”Trixie! Right. She’s gone into labor.”_

Barbara should’ve guessed; there aren’t really any other reasons Nonnatus House gets calls at this time of night. “Alright, I’m on my way over. Do you know how close the contractions are? Has her water broken?”

_”No idea.”_ Tom sounds rather faint.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right there.” With that, Barbara hangs up, grabs her bag from the floor next to her, and climbs the stairs to wake Patsy.

\---

Barbara is her midwife.

If Trixie weren’t currently in nearly unbearable pain, she would laugh at the irony. As it is, she just keeps panting through the contraction.

“Good job,” Barbara encourages. “Relax, you have a few minutes. I’m going to check baby’s position.”

Trixie nods, hiking her nightdress up even further. After a moment’s consideration, she pulls it off entirely; it’s nice silk, no reason to ruin it tonight. 

“Everything is moving along well,” Barbara declares, after a few minutes of examination. “Baby’s in the right position, and I expect your water will--”

With the next contraction, Trixie feels wetness running down her thighs. “Right on cue,” she pants.

Barbara gives her a bright grin. “See? This is all going quite nicely.”

\---

The sun is beginning to set by the time Barbara can see the baby’s head.

Yes, it’s taken a while, but first labors often do. Barbara knows she’ll crash once she gets back to Nonnatus House, but she barely even feels tired right now. After all, she can’t be anywhere near as exhausted as Trixie.

Her friend screams hoarsely, pushing with the contraction. Barbara raises her voice to be heard. “That’s it! Baby’s head is born! One more push!”

The scream turns to tired, giddy laughter. Barbara smiles at the sound. Soon enough, the next contraction comes, and in the next moment, Barbara is holding a screaming newborn in her arms. “It’s a boy, Trixie!”

Trixie makes some sort of joyous noise in response. Barbara carefully clamps and cuts the cord, then wraps the baby in a towel and carries him up to his mother. “Small but lively,” she says.

“Oh…” Trixie takes her son in her arms, a brilliant smile breaking over her face and tears glimmering in her eyes. “Oh, he’s perfect.”

“You keep holding him,” Barbara says, “and I’ll see about the afterbirth.”

The hard part should be over now. Delivering the afterbirth is easy, routine, a few steps to run through that Barbara could follow in her sleep. Is it any wonder that after a simple check, she turns away to tidy up her instruments? It can take up to an hour, and Trixie’s labor thus far hasn’t exactly been speedy. Barbara isn’t at all concerned when minutes pass and there’s no real change. She takes the small infant from Trixie and begins to clean him without any sort of worry.

From the bed, Trixie groans. “Barbara, I think this is the afterbirth.”

Barbara lays the baby in the already-prepared cradle and moves back to kneel between Trixie’s legs. “Hm… nothing yet.”

“Well, it certainly feels like it!”

“Alright, let me see…” Barbara palpates Trixie’s abdomen, and this time, she feels something she hadn’t before. _Wait a minute._

With a new sense of urgency, she crouches once more, continuing her examination. It doesn’t take long to confirm what she’d thought, and then she feels something even more worrying.

“We’re not done yet,” she tells Trixie, trying to sound calm even as her heart begins to race.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Barbara offers her a quick smile. “Twins.”

Even as Trixie curses behind her, Barbara hurries out the door, nearly running into Tom, who’s waiting just outside. “I heard-- is he here? What’s going on?”

She hates that she doesn’t have time for a proper explanation. “Tom, I need you to telephone Dr. Turner, and tell him to get here as fast as he can. After that call Nonnatus House. I could use some backup.”

Tom blanches. “Is everything alright?”

_Lord, I hope so._ “It will be.”

By the time Patsy and Dr. Turner have arrived, Barbara has a better idea of the exact situation. “Cord prolapse,” she informs them breathlessly, “timing unreliable. Baby is presenting breech. Patsy, I need you to weigh and examine baby number one.”

Dr. Turner curses under his breath. “I can’t help you yet, Nurse Gilbert,” he says. “Forceps won’t help in a breech delivery.”

Barbara, trying to concentrate, can only spare him a nod. Things are growing more complicated by the minute… breech position requires a slow, careful delivery, while cord prolapse requires fast action. There’s a chance the pressure on the cord could be relieved as the baby is delivered, but she can’t rely on that.

“Small breaths, Trixie,” she says. “Don’t push too much. Small breaths, small pushes.”

It quickly becomes clear that Trixie is their biggest issue; she’s tense and worried and not really working with Barbara. Finally, Patsy gently hands the healthy baby to Dr. Turner. “You know how to check eyes and reflexes.”

“Ah, yes.”

From then, they work as they always do, one midwife comforting the mother while the other focuses on delivering the baby. Both Patsy and Barbara try to remain professional and think only about the job, not about how it’s Trixie who’s tired and worried and screaming in pain. Neither are particularly successful.

Barbara isn’t sure she breathes at all through the remainder of the delivery. It’s quite literally touch and go, trying to determine the position of the baby and the condition of the umbilical cord. Patsy does a good job comforting Trixie, and Dr. Turner will be able to help once the baby is born. Right now, though, the delivery is up to Barbara.

It’s another baby boy.

Another boy, but this one doesn’t wail as his brother had. His skin is too pale, a blue hue to his face. Barbara follows the steps, rubbing his back and warming him and using the suctioning tube handed to her by Dr. Turner, but there’s no change. She can tell just from how part of the cord is entirely flattened that she’s too late.

“Come on, come on,” she whispers, rubbing the infant’s back. “Please.”

“Nurse Gilbert,” Dr. Turner breaks in, “may I listen?”

She nods mechanically, handing him the infant, wincing at the limpness of the body. After a minute or so of moving the stethoscope around, the doctor sighs and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Barbara stands and moves slowly around the bed. She takes Trixie’s hand in her own. “I’m so sorry.”

Trixie swallows, nods, and wipes at her eyes. “Was… was it a boy or girl?”

Now Barbara, too, feels like she might cry. “Another little boy.”

Another nod from Trixie. “Can I see his brother?”

Patsy hands the first baby over. “He’s doing well. A strong set of lungs and good reflexes to boot.” She gives Trixie a brave smile.

Dr. Turner is carefully wrapping the small body in a towel. “I can deliver the news to Mr. Hereward--”

“No.” Barbara shakes her head. “I should do it. I delivered them both.” _It’s my fault._

“Barbara, you don’t have to,” Patsy murmurs. The look in her eyes says she knows what Barbara is thinking.

“I can do it, Patsy,” she says firmly. Patsy nods, and Barbara slips out of the door once again.

Again, Tom is waiting eagerly just outside. He’s more anxious than excited now, worry shining in his eyes. Oh, Barbara hates how much she loves his eyes.

“Well?”

“You have a son, Tom,” she says quietly. “A healthy baby boy. Trixie’s alright, too.”

Tom doesn’t so much as step toward the door, only regarding her with a deep gaze. “Even I know you don’t call for backup when everything is fine.”

Barbara swallows hard, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She reminds herself that her sorrow is nothing compared to what Tom and Trixie are going through tonight. “There was a twin.” She takes a breath. Forces herself to continue. “The second baby… was presenting in a difficult position, in such a way that he was pressing on his own umbilical cord. By the time he was born... “ her voice breaks. “There was nothing we could do.”

There’s a long silence.

“Thank you,” Tom says softly.

She looks up. “For what?”

“Barbara, I have a healthy son thanks to you. I know nobody could’ve done better.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Tom, you shouldn’t be thanking me.”

He walks past her, heading for the bedroom. When they’re shoulder to shoulder, he pauses, takes her hand, and looks her in the eye. “Thank you, Barbara. You did everything you could.”

Already choking on tears, Barbara can only nod.

\---

Tom sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at the baby Trixie holds in her arms. He’s wrapped in a fluffy brown towel, blue eyes blinking sleepily. When Tom lays a finger in his hand, the baby grabs it.

This sight should fill Tom with joy, should make him laugh with giddy happiness. But there’s a weight in his chest, a cloud in the room. He has one son, a healthy baby. He’d only expected one. He doesn’t understand how he misses a child he’s never known.

“Can I hold him?” he asks, hoping to draw comfort from holding the warm infant in his grasp. Trixie looks reluctant, but nods silently and hands him the baby. Tom can’t help but smile at the soft cooing noises his son makes. “What shall we call him?”

Trixie reaches out to stroke the soft curls present on the baby’s head. “Do you still like the name Colin?”

“I do.” Tom brushes a finger over the soft, smooth skin of his son’s arm. He’s absolutely entranced, and honestly, Trixie could probably suggest any name in the world right now and he would agree.

“Colin Thomas Hereward.” Trixie’s smile is bittersweet. “This isn’t what we expected… but things will work out, won’t they?”

For a moment, Tom doesn’t recognize the plea in her voice. He’s never heard his wife sound unsure. But when he meets her eyes, he can see plain as anything the hurt and desperation in her gaze. She needs someone to be strong now, because she’s just about worn out.

Slowly, as if he might startle her, Tom reaches out to cup her cheek. She leans into the touch and he leans forward, too, Colin held between them. He gently presses his lips to Trixie’s forehead, and she lets out a shaky sob. Before he knows it, Tom has handed over the baby and has both of his arms wrapped around his wife as she cries.

“It’ll be alright, love,” he whispers, even as it feels like his own heart is breaking. “You’ll see. We’ll be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm guessing most of you are used to this fic being pure angst by now...

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Feel free to leave a comment or kudos, or find me on tumblr at nursebarbarahereward !


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